BUCKING THE SYSTEM: WANNABEE MARTHA STEWART TRIES HER HAND AT GARDENING AGAIN

I remember working like a slave many days during my youth.

It was the doing of my parents, the Wannabe Martha Stewarts of the '80s. They wanted a vegetable garden and flower beds, and it was my job to help make these miracles happen.

My sister, Clarissa, often got off on light duty, if she worked at all. That's because she happened to be allergic to everything she touched, be it grass, firewood or dirt. All of which meant that I was the go-to girl when it came to working outside.

It was not unusual for me to spend the early mornings and late afternoons chopping and pulling weeds, running the man-sized tiller when my dad got tired, and planting seeds, bulbs and clippings. It was fun a lot of the time, but it was also a lot of hard work.

Even though I got tired of picking green beans and tomatoes twice daily how in the world do they grow so fast? I greatly enjoyed the benefits of our garden in the fall and winter. And our front yard really looked nice when the bulbs planted years earlier fought their way free each spring and summer, courtesy of my work on weed patrol.

For three years now I've been threatening to start working in my yard. For the first two years, I got away with the excuse that I was renting and didn't want to fix up somebody else's yard. And last year, we had a house fire, so my duty was delayed for yet another year.

The real reason for my excuses was I knew I didn't know what I was doing when it came to working outside. Sure, I could handle maintenance, but I had no idea where to start and didn't really want to ask anybody.

This week, though, I realized that I miss the smell of freshly worked soil. It's like good coffee or Esicar's bacon it has a smell all its own. I also missed the special brand of tiredness that comes from working on an outdoor project and the satisfaction that happens when something you plant lives and flourishes.

And so I decided if I wanted flowers, it was up to me to prepare the ground for them.

What I didn't realize, however, was that my parents actually didn't work me like a slave all those years. Sure, I worked hard, but I now know that they worked a lot harder. And it helped that Dad could afford to buy all the best gadgets, things like tillers and garden hoes and hole diggers.

As for me, when I decide to do something, I do it regardless of the obstacles. And so it was that I took my two toddlers, a trash can full of old bricks, a hand spade and a finger-like tool I don't know the name of but bought anyway out into my front yard to rediscover flower beds long overgrown with assorted vines, weeds and something akin to grass.

With the first stab into the ground, I knew I had found bliss. Although awkward at first, I soon found my rhythm and developed a system of chopping, throwing and aerating. As the weeds gave way to dark, rich-smelling soil, my look of concentration gave way to smiles.

I can do this, I thought. I can turn this weed-infested yard into a landscaped miracle.

Soon my sons, who had been watching traffic and playing with trucks on the front porch, realized Mom was having too much fun on her own and decided to help out. They fought over the finger-looking thing and "shared" turns turning over the soil.

At first I wanted them to move because I didn't want them to get dirty. Soon, however, I decided it would be good for them to get down there and maybe experience a little of the fun I was having.

We didn't get much more done after they joined me, but my boys and me, we had a good time breaking up the soil in that flower bed.

You know, it didn't matter to them that I was working without any real knowledge of what I was doing. I appeared to have control of the situation, and for them, that and a finger-looking thing was all that was necessary.

P.J., Jerry and I had a good time working in the yard, much like I enjoyed those days with my parents so long ago. We're going to get out there again real soon, and I'm hopeful that we actually will plant something this year.

Maybe being a wannabe Martha Stewart isn't such a bad thing after all.

Tamara Zellars Buck is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.